


One Thousand Million Blues

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Zombies, a little cracky, but not really, eccentric Arthur, morgana's a dick, mortician Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No name, no relatives and an anonymous donation for a casket - Arthur's getting really pissed off at the dead man on his table. Only, he isn't so dead after all...</p><p>Or the one where Arthur hits Merlin over the head with a broom because he thinks he's a zombie</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Thousand Million Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd

Humming contentedly, Arthur holds up two different bow-ties, one black and one a spotty gold. The pale man before him hadn't much of an opinion, obviously, and Arthur was quite stumped on which garment would suit the man best. Black... or spotty. Black, spotty, black -

"Hell! I cannot make such a decision without even knowing his eye-colour," Arthur huffs, before marching back to his records as he drops the ties to the wood. Lighting another lamp, he squints at the papers on top of his perfectly organised desk. 

"'Name - unknown. Cause of death - unknown. Relatives - unknown.'" Arthur reads the information aloud, his forehead housing an annoyed crease with each and every new 'unknown' he comes across. "'Age - unknown, profession - unknown.' Unknown unknown _unknown_ \- who the hell wrote this?! You have to be taking the piss! I - oh, wait a moment. Eye colour - blue. Well. That's alright then."

Placing the documents back down, Arthur picks up the ties again and stands over the man lain in the casket. A tall, almost gaunt fellow with a hint of stubble and long, articulate fingers. In life, Arthur can only imagine the man was either a stunning beauty, like the very brightest star set in the clear night sky, or, completely repulsive. That's the only thing Arthur hates about his job - no matter how hard he tries, he can never imitate that spark those he tends to had in life. He can only make the passing a little easier for the relatives through dressing them up, making them presentable and comfortable before the send-off.

Arthur still can't decide between the ties. 

"Oh for heaven's sake - I need to know what kind of blue!" Arthur throws down the ties again with considerably more force and marches back over to his papers. "'Eye colour - blue.' Blue? What kind of blue?! Azure? Sapphire? _Cyan?!_ The sparkling blue of the ocean just as the sun skims over its surface? The deep, unyielding blue that blesses the sky just before the inky black of night sets in? ... Fuck. This is beyond my patience! Dear God, what utter moron wrote me this bloody report?!"

Arthur finds himself with his hands raking through his hair, hunched over himself in a seat near the body whilst making sporadic noises of distress, which definitely don't sound anything like constipation. 

"All this work I'm putting in for you, and not one person will even see it! Who the hell could afford you such a nice casket anyway? They were anonymous you know. A letter and cheque along with your body - like you were a bloody take-away, or a gift! Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting - even if it did seem you were unearthed from a hovel when you first got here, bodies demand respect! Dignity! _Honour!_ You can't just give them to your nephew at Christmas!"

Great, he was getting angry again. What was it Lance kept saying? Ten. That's it - count to ten and breath. And failing that, Gwaine had said, go drink. Well drinking is obviously not an option, and so Arthur counts to ten before walking over to the clunky old radio at the other end of the room. The moment he switches it on, the dulcet tones of some popstarlet singing about her lack of both boyfriend and braincells makes Arthur feel strangely better. 

Still, he leaves the bow-ties alone. He'll just have to work around that. Frowning, Arthur lets himself examine the body again. The man had come swaddled in tattered clothing, and his hair and nails were filthy - it took a good half-hour just to peel that stupid scarf-thing from around his neck for crying out loud! Arthur has definitely done a good job of cleaning him up - scrubbing his nails, washing his hair and putting him in one of the spare suits Arthur has out back (though he's skipped some of the more intimate proceedings, seeing as even if the man's bodily functions do leave a final _goodbye present,_ it's not like anyone is going to bloody see him) and its only now Arthur realises he hasn't actually given the man any shoes. 

"Oh for fu - right, hang on." Arthur stares at the man's feet (not one of Arthur's favourite things to do) before glancing to the back room. "I don't think I have any shoes for people with bloody _canoe feet_ , but -"

A scuffle, small and hardly noticeable to most, interrupts Arthur as loudly as a scream would. Eyes narrowed, Arthur snaps his head to look back at the body. Dammit, he always jumps at things like this - gasses leaving the body and such. No matter what his father taught him, it's still unnerving. And so Arthur watches the man studiously for a good minute, before cautiously stalking to his back room. "Shoes, right," he mutters, still a little bit edgy. He's soon back on his game though, and chooses a pair of large black loafers he distinctly remembers buying from a charity store. 

Leaving the storage room Arthur makes his way back to the body, "Right, you -"

Arthur pauses. The man's left little finger has moved what looks like one centimetre or so, and yes that might be exact but Arthur pays attention to this kind of stuff and that's definitely not because of the zombie-flicks Gwaine makes him sit though at every available opportunity. Yes, make the mortician watch zombie movies - it's like Gwaine's asking to be punched. Swallowing, Arthur steps forward, back straight and expression neutral. Just gas, that's all. And if the radio isn't on anymore well that's because the song has ended, and the radio station has been closed down, and the batteries in the radio itself have obviously melted or something. 

"Hah..." Arthur says aloud, his voice definitely not shaky. "Better... Get these shoes on. On your feet. Yeah. So I'll just... Yup. Feet."

Ignoring the shiver running up his spine, Arthur approaches the man's feet with the sort of care you'd exude around a sleeping lion. He feels silly, yes, but despite the fact he's been working on his own with bodies for almost a year now, he still finds the whole thing really sodding creepy at times. The fact he uses lamps and old scratchy radios probably doesn't help - even Gwen had politely pointed out that it wasn't the jolliest of places. Perhaps Arthur should invest in those fairy-lights you get for windows, or maybe some -"

"Those shoes are disgusting!"

"Fucking hell!" Arthur definitely doesn't scream, as he throws the shoes into the air. He brings his arms up close in front of him, in what he assumes to be a protective stance, just as the man -oh fuck he's actually a zombie fuck fuck fuck - slowly sits up, a bemused look on his face. Blanching, Arthur reaches for the first weapon he can find. The bloody spotty bow-tie. Arthur wants to cry. He's burning all bow-ties if he survives this. That's a promise. 

"Calm down there mate - I was only joking. The shoes are fine," the man says, sitting up more straightly. Arthur stares with wide eyes.

"Stay back! Shit - what's that bloody rule again? Remove the... Remove the head and destroy the brain!"

The man-zombie looks instantly horrified. "What?! You aren't removing or destroying _anything_ you bloody psychopath! Where's Moe? I told her not to leave me! I didn't sleep with you did I? Will I have to get checked? This is a nightmare!"

Arthur's quite frankly having none of this zombie-speak, and quickly scoops up the closest and most deadly thing near him - a broom. Better than a tie, he accepts. He brandishes it in front of him like a sword, despite the fact he's never fought with a weapon in his life. The moment Arthur does this, the zombie's jaw drops (not off. Thank god, Arthur might hurl) as flickers of a recognition attack his features. 

"Wait! You - _You're_ the new reincarnation! Oh, brilliant! I've been looking for -"

Arthur cuts the zombie off by hitting him over the head. 

"Ow! You are! You're a damn psychopath!" the zombie squawks, covering his head. Arthur manages to jab his arm. 

"You were bloody dead!" Arthur shouts. "I bloody-well checked, believe me! I'm not having the startings of a zombie-apocalypse start in my own damn mortuary!"

" A zombie _what?_ " the zombie exclaims, jumping out of the casket unsuccessfully and falling to the floor, only just rolling out of the way as the casket followed. "You prat - zombies don't bloody talk!"

The broom Arthur's swinging comes to an abrupt halt over the zombie-man's head. Was that true? Arthur really can't recall his movie trivia right now, but he's pretty sure zombies don't really say much above 'brains' and 'can I take your order please?' Which leaves a not-dead dead guy in his room, who isn't a zombie, and for a long moment Arthur just shuts down because he has no idea what the hell is happening at all. 

"Hey?" the man says, not zombie, his voice a little more gentle. "Hey, I heard - didn't you say the word 'mortuary' before?"

Arthur lowers the broom a tad, his brow furrowed. He's heard horror stories like this - where dead people were actually _not dead_ and instead just in some kind of mega-coma or something. Oh, hell, the paperwork and legal proceedings for this must be unreal - is he supposed to ring the hospital? Who even brought this man here in the first place? Fuck. Just be a zombie, Arthur internally pleads.

"Hello?"

Arthur slowly makes his way to his chair and slumps in his chair, suddenly exhausted. 

"You were dead. I was getting you ready for burial. I'll need those clothes back... "

The man pales dramatically, sitting himself up on the slab where his casket once was. Arthur dully notes that the man's eye colour is not a single blue, but many, bright as the sun and deep as the sky. The black bow-tie probably would have been best. "No, I - I can't die. I'm immortal," he says, as evenly as one would request a sandwich. 

Arthur only roles his eyes. "Don't get cocky - I'm sure I'll see you on the slab again soon, only this time you won't scare the crap out of me."

"No," the man says, and _wow_ are his eyes intense - Arthur's finding it hard to look away, and his heart is thumping now for different reasons entirely. "No, I'm actually immortal. And I've been looking for you for a good century or so, you're really hard to find!"

Arthur's finding the allure of the man dropping significantly. Of course he would be mad. Mad, and not dead. And, unfortunately, Arthur was correct before - he's stunningly beautiful. It's rare that Arthur is at a loss for words, it's easier to talk when the other half of the conversation is not breathing. 

Possibly seeing Arthur's discomfort, the man drops the subject. "Do you know a Morgana le Fay?" he asks. Arthur perks up at the name.

"Morgana? She's my sister - why?" Arthur's a little suspicious now, and expecting his sister to jump out of a wall or something. This all better not be a prank, for her sake more than his...

"I bloody knew it! That harlot - she said you weren't related this time!" the man explodes, jumping down from his slab. "Another one of her bloody 'jokes', Gods, what if I was actually buried! That - That... Fuck!"

The man marches over to Arthur, rage pouring from his skin as he whips out his arm and extended his fingers towards Arthur, who will never admit flinches at the action. 

"W-what?" he says, eyeing the man's hand as if it was contaminated. 

"Shake. You have to touch me while I'm alive, or you won't remember squat and I'm going to seem like a complete madman to you."

Arthur looks to the hand warily. This man is obviously off his rocker, but Arthur is kind of backed into a corner (or a chair) and so hasn't much of a choice. "Will you go far away and leave me alone if I do?"

 _"Shake my hand,"_ he says, more slowly and through clenched teeth. Arthur groans, and pulls his hand forward, gripping the man firmly and planning on doing as little 'shaking' as humanly possible.

Only instead, more than skin, he gets a hundred lifetimes and a million memories and every damn shade of blue he can possibly imagine and then - 

"Oh, fuck me," Arthur says, eyes wide. 

"Maybe later," the man, _Merlin,_ chuckles, anger still present in his expression. "I've got your sister to kill first. Care to join?"

Arthur realizes he's still holding Merlin's hand. He's no longer in any hurry to let go, but his mind is a complete mess, filled with so many different emotions and timelines that he feels genuinely nauseas. Merlin kneels down slightly, brow creased as he reaches forward with his free hand and cups Arthur's cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I... It's worse that last time. Too many memories," Arthur manages, eyelids drooping. Wonderful - this seems to happen every time-line, Arthur recalls. Merlin will come and restore his memories, but it always leaves him completely worn out for a little while. Typical, he's just remembered the most important person in the world and all he wants to do is sleep. Just as he can't keep his eyes open any longer, he feels soft lips brush against his own. 

"It's okay, Arthur - we can kill your sister later."


End file.
